


Smoke

by sleeplessflower



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Confession, Crush, Drabble, M/M, theres some symetry in the writing ehe, touch starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-26 23:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12069396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleeplessflower/pseuds/sleeplessflower
Summary: He repeats everything he’s heard. All the “oh, sweetie, you’ve never had a real friend before”s. He repeats them, like a mantra, to remind himself. This is why he’s attached. This is why he can’t wait to talk to him, can’t wait for the moment he sits down, for the moment they can share a cigarette.





	Smoke

**Author's Note:**

> so i was rewatchign some eps in season one and everyone is constantly telling peter that he's so attached to roman because he's never had a friend but !! do they not see its because hes got a crush godtddamnit ! i love my men. the prep and the hippie need to date but the fashion clash is too much on the eyes yall.

There’s a soft rustle of fabric, a few footsteps and Peter turns his head.

Roman rounds the corner, already making eye contact. His lips twitch slightly; upward or downward, Peter isn’t sure. He bites his lip for a moment, gnawing at the flesh, and sits.

Peter’s still. His eyes have moved on from where they were trained on Roman. He repeats everything his family’s said, everything he’s heard. All the “oh, sweetie, you’ve never had a real friend before”s and the “he might trust you too much, might get attached, he’s never had a friend”s. He repeats them, like a mantra, to remind himself. This is why he’s attached. This is why he can’t wait to talk to him, can’t wait for the moment he sits down, for the moment they can share a cigarette.

“Hey.” His voice stands and drifts, as monotone as ever. It’s never a tell for emotion – never a tell for anything. He looks down.

There’s a pause, as Peter’s mind chugs. He’s unsure of what to say, how to respond. He looks up for a moment, considering, taking in.

Roman shifts, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out a pack of Marlboros. He pulls one – one – out and shoves the packet back into his pocket.

Peter moves, reaching into his vest to pull out his lighter. He rolls his thumb over it, positioning it so it’s under the cigarette. Roman juts his neck out, just a little, and their breaths warm each other for a moment as the light spurs to life. Peter pulls away as soon as it’s lit, repeating, repeating, repeating. His mind swims, his stomach jumping each time he looks at Roman, each time Roman looks back.

“Thanks.” Is all he offers in return, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth to breathe the smoke into the cold air. It escapes like milk being poured into coffee.

There’s a small shift in the pace, in the mood, as Peter focuses more on Roman. He takes a breath.

Roman puts the cigarette back into his mouth and takes a drag. Before he can use his own hand, Peter’s plucking it out of his mouth. He chuffs.

Peter places the cigarette into his own mouth, breathing in. The smoke fills his lungs and he stills for a moment. He tries not to think about it, tries to focus on the horizon, on the clouds, on the grass, on the steps they’re sitting on. Back to him. His eyes trail back, always back, always back to him. He will, without fail, always gravitate back to him. Even though they’re destined, fated to be rivals, he will always gravitate back.

“Fuck.” Roman runs a hand through his hair, and then utters, quietly. “Shit.” He shifts, and Peter hardly catches it. He doesn’t say a word.

There’s a moment of the question there, with those words, those utterances, where Peter could speak. But he doesn’t.

Roman plucks the cigarette back from Peter’s mouth. His fingers brush Peter’s lips. For a brief moment, Roman’s movements stutter, as if he’s made a mistake, and then he moves on. Just like that.

Peter’s lips are on fire. Where Roman brushed feels numb, almost pulsing, stinging, like he was rubbed with poison ivy and not someone’s fingers, someone’s flesh. At his side, where Roman can’t see, Peter’s hand curls into a loose fist. His fingers dig for a moment, and he breathes. He lets the smoke drift from his nose, and the rest curls from his mouth shortly after. His mouth throbs like a hit thumb and he stares forward, squinting at the sun. His chest clenches like an impossible vice has clinched his heart – like it’s between the teeth of some wild animal. The wolf inside of him jumps and thrashes, both in protest and impatience, stirring the butterflies in his stomach.

“I think I’m in love with you.” It comes through as monotone as anything else he might tell. If he were to say ‘fuck off’ it would have more emotion.

There’s – wait. Roman looks over.

There’s a moment of pause, of extreme consideration. How would Peter know if Roman is lying? Does he have any tells? Of course not.

Roman shifts, breathing out smoke and taking another quick drag. His outward breath is shaky. He looks around and then down at the cigarette, snubbing it.

Peter – Peter can hardly breathe.

“Fuck it.” Roman runs his hands through his hair and rocks; shifting bodily to shake the nervous energy off of him. He breathes. “Forget I ever said anything.”

There’s a brief moment where Peter find it in himself and squeezes his eyes shut.

“What did you say?” his voice is wavering.

“Forget I said anything.” Roman’s voice is still flat. No annoyance, no hope, no nothing.

“N-n-no.” Peter stutters his way through a single word, his heart roaring. “Before that.”

“Dude, you can not have been spaced out that entire time.” Roman protests.

Peter’s still repeating to himself, and it disheartens him. He knows Roman _does,_ but what if _he doesn’t_?

“I wasn’t.” Peter almost snaps, looking at the crushed cigarette on the ground.

“Then you heard me.” Roman confirms. And although Peter’s not looking at him, he can feel Roman’s eyes.

“Yeah,” Peter looks up. “I heard you.”

“Then I don’t need to repeat myself.” Roman’s voice is still flat. Still fucking flat.

Peter looks up, makes eye contact. Maintains it, for as long as he’s willing to let himself. “Maybe you do.” His voice is soft.

“Don’t fucking play with me, Peter.” Does he not want to say it again? Roman Godfrey, being nervous? No, never.

“I just.” Peter looks away. “I need to hear you say it. To be sure.” And he can tell Roman’s taking a moment, composing himself – because he’s pissed or something else, Peter can’t tell.

“What I said was –“ Roman’s voice wavers, a little, and Peter’s brows perk up. “I think I’m in love with you.”

Peter relaxes.

“God. That sounded fucking gay.” Roman Laughs to himself for a moment. It’s not his usual laugh.

“Yeah…” Is all Peter can muster.

Roman shifts closer, in possible anticipation.

“What are you saying ‘yeah’ to?” He asks.

“I think…” Peter takes a moment, and presses himself lightly along Roman’s side. “I think I’m… that I.” He stops.

Roman put his hand onto Peter’s knee. It’s warm. Peter freezes.

Roman doesn’t say anything else. He shifts, so that he’s bodily facing Peter. The hand that was on his knee is on his shoulder. His knee throbs like it’s been smashed with a hammer. Roman shifts, his hand sliding up slowly, until it’s cupping Peter’s face. Peter can feel his face growing hot. Roman’s hand is considerable, and Peter can fell all of it. Roman leans in, and Peter takes a moment of panic before he can feel the softness of Roman’s lips, of his touch, the wavering uncertainty of the way he pecks at Peter’s lips and the pauses, letting Peter collect his thoughts before he dips his head again.

Peter feels like he’s going to pass out.

Roman pulls back, and his hand slides around, so it’s gripping the hair at the base of Peter’s skull. He breathes for a moment and then shifts, his hand sliding away.

Roman stands, and Peter could swear his ears are ringing, his mouth still open.

Roman looks down and crouches, kissing Peter one more time.

Roman walks back around the corner, and Peter barely catches what he says.

 

**Author's Note:**

> remember to leave a comment telling be to write more even though i wont ! seriously tho, its the comments/kudos that spur me to continue to write !


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